


Change

by swimmingfox



Series: Potential [11]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Artwank, Babies, Because it's not Potential without a wedding or seven, Benjeera, Bristol, Cavelyn, Children, Daftly-named London skyscrapers, Difficulties, East London LIVES ON, Errr hopefully, F/M, Family, Gatherings, I Do, Implied/Referenced Cheating, JOJAQ LIONMAN, Jojaq Horseman, London, M/M, Misandedd, Miscarriage, Modern AU, Pod is the best of best men, Podrya, Potential continues FOREVER, Potential is life, Robin has become a fuckboi, Sadness, SanSan sails into trouble, Sweetness, Tygritte, UK Setting, Weddings, aka the usual, anti-wedding, city pub, making weird crackships means really fun ship names, non-wedding, obviously, or do i, sansan, silliness, yup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:47:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21717898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swimmingfox/pseuds/swimmingfox
Summary: Sansa and Sandor have expanded their family! Arya is given some big news! Sansa gets a shock! Edd and Missy are tackling new things! Jojen is continuing his takeover of the contemporary art world! SanSan, Podrya, Jojaq and other crackships; angst, joy, possibly more angst, hmm.Warning! This fic contains SanSan sailing into difficulties and will not be for everyone.A continuation of the Potential series, my multi-cast GoT Modern AU set in the UK. Go start from the beginning if you haven't read any of the rest! Otherwise it might be a bit WEIRD.
Relationships: Davos Seaworth/Catelyn Tully Stark, Jaime Lannister/Jojen Reed/Jaqen H'ghar, Jaqen H'ghar/Jojen Reed, Lyanna Mormont/Rickon Stark, Meera Reed/Benjen Stark, Missandei/Edd Tollett, Podrick Payne/Arya Stark, Robb Stark/Margaery Tyrell, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, Tyrion Lannister/Ygritte
Series: Potential [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/412825
Comments: 340
Kudos: 103





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HELLO EVERYONE. Here is MORE Potential, because it just keeps going until the end of time... FANKS FOR READING!

**Sandor**

‘You,’ he said to the baby in his arms. ‘Are a little wee shite.’

Florence bawled, louder.

‘She’s coming back,’ he said. ‘But you are going to take this bloody bottle if it’s the last thing I do.’

Florence shut her eyes, her face growing furiously redder, and moved her mouth away from the teat.

Sandor sighed. ‘Fuck’s sake.’ He was supposed to be the stay-at-home superdad. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I know. Her boobs are bloody fantastic. But she’s not back ‘til tonight, so it’s this or you starve. Fine by me.’

Florence remained impervious, and shrieked.

There was a sound of things falling from another room. A pause before the inevitable outraged wail. ‘DADDY!’

Sandor sighed again. Looked up. ‘Aye. What?’

Teddy came out, holding a large plastic dragon, the tears already streaked on his face. ‘IT BIT ME, DADDY!’

‘Sure it did,’ he said, to his three year-old son. ‘What are you going to do about it?’

‘I DUNNO!’ said Teddy, furiously sobbing. ‘IT HURT AND NOW I HURT VERY BAD IN EYE!’

Florence cried louder. Teddy cried louder.

‘Jesus Christ,’ said Sandor.

***

**Arya**

‘Best wedding ever,’ said Arya, as they arrived back at the flat.

‘Better than ours?’ said Pod.

‘No, obviously not better than ours,’ she said. ‘But still killer.’

Uncle Ilyn and Chella had finally tied the knot (she’d proposed to him, naturally) in a hilariously anarchic do that included the bride arriving on a Harley Davidson, a bagpipe player in a black leather kilt, and the re-forming of the surviving members of Ilyn’s old pub-rock band to raucously play out the evening (Chella had stage-dived and crushed the leg of a passing waiter). 

‘Chella is now officially your aunt,’ Arya said, sniggering. She had drunk more whisky and cokes than she had in her life and felt well pissed.

Pod grinned. ‘Lucky me.’ 

'One best man down, one to go.' He’d given a straight-up adorable speech about Ilyn that made everyone sob and laugh, and had another one to write soon. ‘Twice in a month. You’re going to have to start charging.’

Their babysitter, a seventeen-year-old neighbour, came out to amiably detail Aoife’s level of rebelliousness (medium to high), before Pod paid her and bid her goodnight.

As they climbed into bed, Pod slid a warm arm underneath her neck and drew Arya into him. His hair still smelt of the smoke from Ilyn’s mad mates’ cigars. 

‘Feeling OK about tomorrow?’ he said.

‘Yeah.’ She turned her head to stare at the ceiling, feeling that familiar knot of sorrow deep in her stomach as Pod hugged her tighter.

It was supposed to get easier. It never got easier.

***

**Edd**

‘Babe,’ said Missy.

‘Yep,’ said Edd, currently making eggy bread, because she’d requested it for breakfast and, without fault, her requests were his commands.

She leant against the counter. ‘Have you looked at the calendar?’

He glanced at her. Turned the radio down and looked over at the paper calendar hanging on the back of the kitchen door.

There it was. Three months. On the nose.

He looked over at her. ‘There it is.’ 

She smiled, a careful one, before sliding into him for a hug.

***

**Sansa**

‘I NEED PEE PEE,’ said Teddy.

‘No, you don’t,’ said Sandor from the driver’s seat, looking at him through the rear view mirror.

‘I DO,’ said Teddy.

‘We stopped fifteen minutes ago and I asked you if you wanted to go, and you said no.’

‘I DINT WANT PEE PEE THEN BUT I WANT PEE PEE NOW,’ said Teddy.

‘For fuck’s sake,’ Sandor said, under his breath.

‘Sweetheart,’ said Sansa turning round to her son. ‘Do you think you can be a big strong SuperTed and wait a little bit longer?’

‘NO,’ said Teddy.

Travelling with two small children was definitely the least-best thing in the world. It could only be worse, Sansa supposed, if they were on trains with two pushchairs and a carriageful of disapproving passengers. She had no idea how Arya, a champ on public transport with Aoife, ever managed it.

‘NEED PEE PEE NOW.’

Teddy seemed to have been born with loudspeakers for lungs. It’d be very hard to lose him in a crowd, because you’d always hear him stoutly informing everyone that his lorry was broken, or his willy was bendy, or whatever else was bothering him at that precise moment.

‘I bet you can wait,’ said Sansa. ‘And if you can, I’m going to give you two Haribos when we get to Nanna’s.’

There was a short pause while Teddy considered the situation. ‘I NEED PEE PEE AND POO POO,’ he said.

***

**Edd**

‘ _Baby love, my baby love_.’

They were on their tiny balcony of their North London flat, the fresh autumn sun out, the planes gently grizzling on the flight path above them. Missy had finished gobbling her eggy bread and was sitting on his lap, a hand on her belly.

‘ _I need you, oh I need you_.’

He remembered being in the bathroom together just under two months ago, waiting for the tiny line to form. The line that meant _life_.

Missy hummed the next phrase before glancing at him with a grin. ‘Can’t remember the words after that.’

Edd put his hands over hers on her stomach. _Come on, you_ , he thought. _You’re going to stay put_.

His wife sighed, and rested her head on top of his. ‘Third time lucky then, right?’

‘Definitely,’ he said. 

***

**Sansa**

They drew up outside the Stark family home. It didn’t stop being difficult, knowing that Ned would never step out onto the path in his socks, a coffee in his hand, a benign smile on his face.

There was a maroon car parked in the driveway. 

‘Whose is that?’ said Sandor.

‘No idea,’ said Sansa, as Florence inevitably woke up and started bawling. Maybe Robb had got a new car. He was minted these days.

‘I’ll get her,’ Sandor said as he got out and opened Florence’s door. ‘You go in. Come on, you terror.’ He leant in to undo her seatbelt straps.

Sansa sorted Teddy out and as they went hand in hand to the front door, it opened and a man stepped outside. ‘Oh,’ she said.

It was Doctor Seaworth, their family doctor, looking more casual than she’d ever seen him before. He looked startled. ‘Sansa,’ he said, in his gentle Geordie accent. ‘Nice to see you.’ 

‘Hello,’ she said. Looked past her to Cat, who had appeared on the front step behind him.

‘I DONE A POO POO ON THE ROAD,’ said Teddy to this strange man.

‘Did you, by God?’ said Doctor Seaworth, amusedly impressed.

‘Not on the road,’ said Sansa. ‘On the side of the road.’ She looked at her mum.

‘Hello darling.’ Cat gave a strange, slightly false smile. ‘I wasn’t expecting you until this afternoon. Hello, sweetheart. How’s my favourite grandson?’

‘HARIBO,’ said Teddy.

‘Florence fell asleep so we thought we’d get going,’ Sansa said. ‘I did text.’ She looked at Doctor Seaworth again. There was a trace of awkwardness behind his benign expression.

Here. On a Sunday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks SOOO much for the comments, Potential-pals. It's only worth it to see you guys back on my dash. And now that the UK is hurtling towards its DOOM, comments make it all the better. Thankfully, in Potential-'verse there is zero politics! LET'S ALL LIVE THERE.
> 
> *Trigger warnings for miscarriage mentions*

**Sandor**

‘Oh, she’s just heartbreaking,’ said Cat, jiggling Florence in her arms, a muslin cloth on her shoulder. 

‘Aye,’ said Sandor. When she wasn’t bawling her head off, that was. There was a familiar, ripe smell. ‘She needs changing, I reckon.’ The amount of piss and shit that came out of their five-month-old daughter was mind-boggling.

‘I’ll do it,’ said Cat.

‘You don’t have to.’ Sandor had nappy-changing it down to a fine art, though it didn’t stop Florence sometime shitting or pissing all over him in the process.

‘I’m happy to. Makes me feel nostalgic. Go on, get yourself a cup of tea.’ She took the baby out of the kitchen.

‘Let’s have some juice,’ said Sansa as she came into the kitchen, with Teddy following her.

‘DON’T WANT JUICE,’ said Teddy.

‘You told me you wanted apple juice three minutes ago, Ted,’ said Sansa. ‘So I am getting you some.’ She opened the fridge.

‘So who was the guy with the car?’ Sandor said, leaning back on the counter.

‘Our doctor,’ said Sansa, taking the apple juice carton out, before turning to him, her face pale. Her voice dropped. ‘Something bad’s happened, I know it.’ He could see her trying not to let her son see her fear. ‘I couldn’t bear it. Not Mum.’

‘Don’t jump to conclusions. Ask her when she’s back downstairs.’

Sansa nodded, tightly. 

‘Hey.’ He brought her in for a hug, his chin on the top of her head. ‘It’ll be fine. Promise.’

‘APPLE JUICE,’ said Teddy.

***

**Arya**

‘Yo, housewife.’

Sandor, putting a bottle of milk in the fridge, turned round. ‘Still not funny.’

‘What d’you mean?’ She gave a shit-eating grin to her big – or rather, massive – bro-in-law. ‘Never gets old.’ 

He rolled his eyes. ‘Aye, whatever.’

‘Uncle Thandor!’ Aoife came skidding in, and crashed into the legs of her all-time favourite uncle. She had never quite forgiven him for having a child of his own – Teddy lived in fear of Aoife’s surly face and stout fists.

‘Alright, kiddo,’ he said, and lifted her up. ‘Christ, you weigh as much as an elephant.’ 

‘I don’t, I don’t!’

‘ _Two_ elephants.’ He turned her upside down, her hair hanging down. ‘After a full English breakfast.’ She erupted into hearty giggles.

‘How’s the house of madness?’ Arya asked.

‘Mad,’ Sandor said, turning Aoife back round again and letting her down gently. ‘Loud.’

They watched Aoife dash out of the kitchen again, yelling lustily. ‘One is bad enough,’ Arya said. ‘I can’t even imagine. Especially when one of them literally only ever shouts.’ 

Sandor gave a sigh and shook his head. ‘I don’t know why he does. Neither of us ever raises our voice.’

‘Did you have the hearing test done?’

He nodded. ‘His ears are fine. He’s just really fucking loud.’

As if on cue, his son’s voice could be heard protesting from the living room, along with Aoife’s fiercer one. 

‘Better go break them up,’ said Arya. 

He sighed again.

***

**Sansa**

‘So she’s doing ballet on Wednesdays, and art class on Thursdays. And she’s keen on horse riding lessons, aren’t you darling?’ 

Margaery had her daughter Clara on her lap. Clara, who was four and already excelling at everything. Clara, whose fine blonde hair was always tidily brushed. Clara, who sat still, and already had the vocabulary of a seven-year-old.

‘Yes, Mummy,’ said Clara. ‘Please can I have a pony? I will feed it carrots every day and brush it and call it Miss Clippity Clop and I’ll let you ride her.’

‘We’ll see, you charmer,’ said Margaery, with one of her usual gleaming smiles.

‘I DONE PEE PEE UPSTAIRS,’ said Teddy, to everyone in the room, looking up from his pile of Lego bricks, where he was constructing a huge wall with Rickon.

‘Just as impressive,’ said Bran. 

‘Class,’ Robb grinned at Sansa.

Having everyone together mostly only happened around Christmas these days. Rickon lived in Scotland, having shunned the idea of university and instead started teaching primary school kids mountaineering skills. Bran, who had never been quite the same after his mind-bending drugs experience, had at least applied himself to his studies, and was in the middle of a PhD on the concept of time in literature. Robb and Margaery had a big pile in Cornwall, from which they ran both his brewery business and her organic make-up company.

Cat came in, with a warm smile at her assembled extended family, and just a trace of sadness. ‘Shall we go?’

***

**Edd**

‘Hey babe. How’s tricks?’

He watched Missy, her phone against her ear and looking out onto the backs of houses beyond their balcony. She was stretching her neck in a yoga move, one long side curved. So bloody graceful. Two years almost to the day they’d been married. They’d got hitched in a chapel in Bristol, his Lancashire family – all stern-faced and sanguine – contrasting with the cheerful, bubbly Bristol lot. 

‘Oh God, I’m sorry,’ Missy said, on the phone. ‘I didn’t realise. Are you on your way there now? I’ll phone another time . . . Are you sure?’ She stretched her neck in the opposite direction. ‘Yeah, so, anyway. Got some news.’

He listened as she told Sansa, with gentle, carefully excited hums to her friend’s response. His own phone buzzed.

_SANDOR_  
_Congrats, mate. Welcome to the club._

He texted back his thanks. Sandor had been his best man; though Edd hadn’t helped on the Forest School stuff for long, he was eternally grateful for the support in that bleak year, as he tried to adjust to his lack of leg and career.

‘Oh, sooo many names,’ said Missy, lifting one foot up and placing her heel on her other inner thigh. She was like a stork. A sexy, beautiful stork. ‘Too many names. Gonna have to narrow it down. Edd says Prince or Princess is vetoed. Meanie.’ He listened to her as she pretended it was all new, that she hadn’t been through hell twice already.

The first time had been an accident, of sorts, or at least they hadn’t really talked about it much. Edd, with a mostly distinct lack of romantic life in the army, had never much considered kids. But when Missy had realised how late her period was, he’d felt a gentle swelling in his chest at the possibility of fatherhood.

Six weeks in, Missy had got up in the middle of the night with a stomach-ache, and he’d found her crouched over herself on the loo, sobbing. 

The second time, almost two months in, had taken longer, Missy given tablets to help get the tissue out. The bleeding went on for weeks, and he’d made countless hot water bottles, watched countless romantic comedies with her on the sofa, held her while she cried. It had been heartbreaking.

‘Hope it goes OK today, babe. So much love. Bye, hon.’ Missy joined him, tucking her phone away in her pocket and coming over to slip an arm in his. It was a big thing, telling her friends. Their parents had both known the previous pregnancies, but the old three-month rule had kept firm for everyone else.

She gave a gentle, careful sigh. ‘No more Missy-carriages,’ she said, and gave a hopeful smile.

***

**Sansa**

‘ _Dear Grandad. You were really nice to me_.’

It was the third time they’d done this. Gone to a quiet spot on the River Avon outside Bristol, a place Ned had loved, had a picnic, and dropped flowers. 

‘ _You carried me in your arms and took me out for tea_.’

Bran always found a new poem to read, but this year, Clara was also reading out a self-penned poem, loudly and with perfect elocution. She was wearing a jaunty beret and autumnal coat. Arya had her arms around Aoife and was trying to hold in her grin. Robb and Margaery’s daughter really was insanely precocious.

‘ _I’m really sad that now you’re gone, I hope you’re in the sky/ I hope you’re tucked up in your bed and now I say goodbye_.’ Clara looked up. ‘That’s the end.’

‘Beautiful, Clara,’ said Cat, taking her hand. ‘Thank you, love.’

Sandor, holding Florence in the crook of his elbow, took Sansa’s hand. She drew in a breath and looked up at the high grey clouds as they fleeted over. Felt the same dull emptiness she had every year, and every time she thought of him.

‘Right,’ said Arya, under her breath, next to her. ‘Let’s do this. Come on, bug.’ She took Aoife’s hand and stepped towards the water, Pod joining them.

Everyone was holding a leaf picked from the Stark’s apple tree. Other families might have thrown flowers, but with Ned and Cat being environmental campaigners, cut flowers were off the menu. He loved that tree.

Robb crouched down with Clara, letting their leaves drop in the river.

Teddy tore his and Florence’s leaves to pieces and threw them in haphazardly with a whooshing sound, before turning round to Sandor. ‘I DUNNIT, DADDY. I DONE THE LEAF.’

‘Aye,’ said Sandor to him. ‘You did.’

Sansa looked at her own leaf, its shine and serrated edges. Three years without him. It seemed like a decade, and it seemed like he’d only been here yesterday.

‘You OK?’ Sandor said, very softly.

She blinked, nodded, and dropped the leaf into the water. It joined the small party of others, bobbing on the current, twisting and disappearing round the corner.

***

**Arya**

‘Yo.’ Back at the family home, Arya had gone out to the garden to take Jojen’s call. 

‘Hey hey,’ said Jojen, on the other end of the phone. ‘Sorry I missed you before. I was art-ting. How’s Ned Day?’

‘Oh, you know,’ Arya said, gently kicking the side of a pot plant. ‘Pretty much fucking sucks. But at least we’re all together.’

‘I can’t imagine, mate. Hang in there.’

‘Yeah. How’s it all going there?’ 

‘It goes.’ Jojen had spent two years in Tokyo and the last few months in London. He’d been given two rooms in a shared show in some hip-as-fuck East London gallery, where he was currently preparing for the private view. Jaqen’s initial contacts years ago had paid off, and small galleries were beginning to know about him. Some obscure art magazine had included him in a 'people to watch' column a couple of months ago. 'Gonna meet Robin for a drink later,' he said. 'He texted me and said he was at some lo-fi opera rehearsal nearby.'

'Jesus. How does the time go so fucking fast?' Robin, once a ten year old eccentric dork, was now studying at music college in London and in his element, being finally surrounded by other eccentric music dorks.

'Innit.'

‘Listen,’ said Arya. ‘Jaqen was being all cryptic and shit on me on Friday. He wants a meeting, but he didn’t say what for. He said all would be explained.’

‘M’kay.’

‘Do you know what it is?’ Though Arya practically ran the place for Jaqen these days, she still got the fear that everything was going to fall down around her ears one day, and that he and everyone else would see that she was just making it up as she went along.

‘Nope.’

‘You guys aren’t, like, adopting some Japanese baby or something?’ Jojen and Jaqen had spent the last three years in a completely non-exclusive, mostly long-distance relationship, meeting up in Berlin, New York, London, Tokyo or the less glamorous Bristol, with black and white photos of the pair of them put on Jojen’s very occasional Instagram account with the hashtag _#zenmen_.

‘No plans as yet,’ said Jojen. She could hear him lighting up his fag on the other end of the phone. ‘I quite like the idea of getting a shih-tzu, but I never know where I’m gonna be.’ He exhaled.

‘I had one just this morning.’

‘Boom.’

‘So you don’t know why he wants to talk to me?’

‘Not a clue.’

‘You can’t find out?’

‘It won’t be anything bad, mate. You’re a ledge. He loves you.’

‘He said that?’

‘Not in so many words.’ Jaqen rarely used many words, when a few – or a lazily enigmatic look – would do.

‘Alright. Thanks for nothing.’

‘Always,’ said Jojen. ‘Right, gotta go weld some shit to some other shit. Laters.’

‘Laters.’ She let out a sigh and looked up. She had wandered underneath the apple tree without realising, and the pain suddenly hit her, like someone stamping on her chest. _Fuck, Dad_ , she thought. _Why did you have to fucking die on us? Fuck you, non-existent God_. 

***

**Sansa**

Back at the family house, Robb had brought a crate of beer for everyone. His company had been developing new flavours and he was keen to get people’s opinion. Sansa was trying out the Lady (a light wheat beer), while Sandor was on Ghost (non-alcoholic) as he was driving. Arya had come straight in and cracked open a Warrior (mild bitter) and drunk the lot pretty quickly.

The mood was fairly chipper, given that it was Dad’s anniversary. There was always some relief at having got the commemorative part over with, and Cat always insisted that it wasn’t a time for glum faces. He would have wanted smiles, she always said.

Sansa watched her mother now, jiggling Florence on her lap. She tried to read past the strong, serene look on her face, to see why the doctor would be visiting her at home, the knot of fear twisting in her stomach again. Cat stood and passed Florence to Sansa. ‘Right, who wants another non-beer drink?’

‘ME,’ said Teddy.

‘Meeeeeee,’ said Aoife, doing a handstand at the same time.

‘Yes please, Grandma,’ said Clara. ‘Do you have any elderflower cordial?’

As Cat took the order, Sansa passed Florence to a slightly surprised Rickon and stood up. ‘I’ll help.’

She followed her mother out to the kitchen and watched her rinse the straws out. ‘Mum,’ she said. 

‘Yes, darling?’ Cat turned to her, a plastic beaker in her hand.

‘The doctor. You can’t pretend that he wasn’t there, because I saw him.’

Cat’s mouth opened, the slightest amount. But she couldn’t seem to speak.

This was it, then. ‘Just tell me,’ Sansa said. ‘Is it . . .’ she drew in a deep breath. ‘Is it cancer?’

Cat looked braced for something else, and looked startled. ‘Oh goodness, Sansa. No. No, it’s nothing like that. I’m fine. I’m well.’

‘You can’t be. Please don’t lie. You don’t have to be brave just for me.’

‘Sweetheart.’ Cat put a hand on her daughter’s. ‘I know this will be hard for you to hear. I’d been putting it off.’ She put her chin to her chest. Raised it again, and spoke softly. ‘Doctor Seaworth – Davos – and I have been seeing each other.’

Sansa’s mind became baffled, blank. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I think you know what I mean.’

Something solidified in her chest, began to burn. ‘ _Seeing_ each other?’ Tears spiked at her eyes. ‘You mean . . . _romantically?_ ’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you fucking serious?’

‘Yes, Sansa. I am. It’s been –’

‘I cannot hear this right now.’ Sansa put a hand to her forehead. ‘Jesus fucking Christ, Mum. It’s Dad’s bloody _memorial_ day.’

‘Please don’t swear. Obviously you weren’t supposed to see him. You were two hours early.’

‘What, so you were going to sneak him out? On the morning of Dad’s anniversary?’

‘I knew it wouldn’t go down well.’ She let out a measured sigh. ‘There’s never going to be a good time, I suppose.’

‘How long? How long have you been seeing him?’

‘Just a few months. That’s all.’

‘That’s _all?_ ’ Sansa couldn’t help the fierce streak of fury that rose in her chest. ‘That’s all.’ She nodded, bitterly. ‘Nice, Mum. Really nice.’

She stormed out of the room, slamming the door, and walked straight into Sandor and Teddy.

‘What’s up?’ he said, seeing her red eyes.

‘Can we leave now, please?’

He looked puzzled and glanced behind her to the closed kitchen door. ‘Now? Aren’t we staying for dinner?’

‘I want to leave right now.’

Sandor crouched down to Teddy. ‘Go on back to the living room and play Lego, OK?’

Teddy didn’t move. ‘AOIFE’S IN THERE, DADDY.’

‘She won’t bite.’

‘SHE BITE ME BEFORE ON MY ARM.’

Sandor sighed. ‘Go play with Uncle Rickon. He’ll protect you.’

They watched their son wander reluctantly down the corridor. Sandor turned to Sansa. ‘What’s going on?’

Sansa folded her arms, looked to the wall. She felt a thin disgust in her stomach, her throat. ‘Mum. She’s –’ she could hardly say it. ‘Shagging our doctor.’

Sandor looked nonplussed for a moment, before nodding, lightly. ‘OK.’

‘OK?’ She couldn’t believe it. ‘OK? Jesus.’

‘Hey,’ said Sandor, putting a hand on her arm, and lowering his voice. ‘Calm down.’

Sansa shrugged him off. ‘I will not calm down. I want to leave. Now.’

And she stalked away from him, down the corridor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Trigger warnings for miscarriage stuff*

**Arya**

‘Arya?’

Her boss was standing by the door, looking sleekly ambiguous as always.

‘Yup,’ she said. 

‘Shall we have our conversation?’ 

‘Yup.’ She was obviously about to be fired. Nothing good lasted forever – well, except for Pod and Aoife. They weren’t going anywhere on her watch. But she’d been doing so well at her job, tons of awesome design work, and part of her always felt that loving it as much as she did was going to come back to bite her on the arse.

Jaqen gave a demure smile and picked up her puffa jacket from the coatstand. ‘I thought we could go out for some tea.’

Definitely going to be fired.

***

**Edd**

‘No, not for the Subcommittee. For the Editorial Working Group and the Sub-working Group. Yep. Alright, bye.’ 

Edd put the phone down and stared at his computer again. So many bloody folders, and numbers. He stared at the photo of his wife, wearing heart-shaped sunglasses and pouting at the camera. That was a much better view.

It was rather nice that both he and Missy were working for the civil service at the moment, albeit in completely different parts of the city and albeit for a government they didn’t agree with. Whilst Missy was at the Foreign Office, Edd was now advising on the transportation of dangerous goods for the MoD. There was a lot of pen-pushing and he now could recite Health and Safety acronyms in his sleep but hell, he wasn’t getting blown up, so that was a bonus.

His phone rang and, as he glanced over at it, his heart switched gear, became the soft-as-anything husband he now was. _Little Ms Kissy_ , his wife had changed her name to on his phone.

‘Hello, you,’ he said.

There was silence, then a faint, muffled sob.

He sat up. ‘Hello? Missy? Are you there?’

More strange, dislocated sounds. His mind was already whirring to the worst possible scenario: she’d been hit by a car, robbed, kidnapped. ‘Missy? Where are you?’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, and his heart clanged even more loudly. ‘I’m so sorry.’

His soldier-instincts kicked in. Calm, measured. ‘Just tell me where you are,’ he said. 

‘Toilet. At work.’

‘OK.’ He already knew what it meant.

‘I’m so sorry.’ She started crying, properly.

‘Don’t say that.’ He looked at her photo again, the confident, dreamy pose. ‘Is anyone there with you?’

‘No. I’m bleeding everywhere,’ she said, and sighed in an odd, detached way. ‘I feel really faint.’

Right. ‘Missy, I’m going to hang up and call an ambulance right now, OK?’ He waited. ‘Missy?’

‘OK,’ she whispered.

***

**Arya**

‘I’ll have the Earl Grey Crème, and the small macaroon plate.’ 

Classic Jaqen. For someone about to fire his employee, he did it in style. They were in the extremely posho Hotel du Vin, who served their afternoon tea in the confines of an old converted sugar house, proper afternoon tea with stacked silver trays and delicate china.

‘Um, yeah,’ said Arya, looking at the menu. ‘I’ll have the Gingerbread Chai and the scone plate. And the homemade candy floss.’ Well, if she was going to go out, she’d go out in a blaze of sticky, calorific glory.

They handed their menus back to the waitress. Jaqen looked at her with an opaque half-smile. ‘So.’

She sighed. ‘So.’ What was she going to do? She needed to work just as much as Pod, even if he did earn a bit more than her. They had their rent to pay, and having a child definitely did not come cheap. Especially one that ate as much as Aoife did.

Jaqen leant on a hand and looked out of the window. ‘Time passes.’

‘Uh-huh.’ Great. Another load of unhelpful vague mantras. 

‘It passes quickly, sometimes.’ 

‘Yup.’ 

He breathed in, tranquilly. Cast his eyes around the room.

Arya picked up an ornate silver teaspoon, unnecessarily. Put it down again. ‘Jaqen, if you’re going to do this, can we just get it over with?’

His eyes slunk elegantly over. ‘Do what, exactly?’

‘Do an Alan Sugar on me.’

He gazed at her obliquely. Of course. He didn’t watch TV. He didn’t have a TV.

‘The Apprentice, you know?’ He didn’t blink. ‘Ugh, forget it.’ She let out a raggedy sigh. ‘Just say it.’ She waved her hands at him. “You’re fired”.’

Jaqen smiled, slowly. ‘Ah. I see.’ The waitress came over with a tray of teas. ‘You’re mistaken,’ Arya.’ He watched the waitress place the teapots down. ‘I think a glass of champagne would be in order for my companion,’ he said to her.

Arya looked at him.

***

**Sandor**

‘DADDY PLEASE READ STORY.’

‘You’ve just had two stories.’ He was sprawled next to Teddy in jeans and bare feet, half-falling off his tiny bed.

‘I WANT STORY.’

‘What am I, your servant?’ Yes, was the answer to that one.

‘THIS STORY NICE.’

‘I’ve just read that one to you.’

‘I LIKE THE FUNNY SKID.’

‘Squid.’

‘HE IS FUNNY COS HE IS SO WET.’

‘If you say so.’

‘PLEASE DADDY BECAUSE I GOOD TODAY.’

‘You shouted at that other kid in nursery and you didn’t finish your dinner, so I wouldn’t call that stellar, you cheeky little –’ he still had to work very hard not to swear in front of him. Swearing in front of Florence was allowed, but Teddy picked up everything. ‘Tyke.’

‘I TRIED REALLY HARD.’

‘Hmm.’ He sighed. ‘OK, you win.’ Jesus Christ, he’d gone soft. The kids who came to his Forest School days would laugh their arses off to see him being such a pushover.

Halfway through the story about the superhero squid, Teddy was asleep, his head pushed against his dad’s arm. Sandor carefully shut the book and took Teddy’s hot cheek in his hand to lower him to the pillow. As he knelt on the floor, he took a moment to look at him. Yes, he had the lungs of a town crier, and was as stubborn as fuck when it came to using the damned toilet when he was asked, but he was his son. Long-limbed, black hair always sticking out all over the place, happy to tramp around in the woods, picking up leaves, worms and sometimes dog shit with equal fascination.

Now, with his mouth slightly ajar, those long dark lashes casting tiny shadows on his cheek, Sandor knew that he would do anything for this kid. He leant over and kissed his forehead. ‘Night, critter,’ he said, very quietly.

Florence, in the cot on the other side of the room, started stirring. ‘Oh no, you bloody don’t,’ he said.

***

**Edd**

‘I’m sorry.’

Missy was on a bed in a ward of three women in the early pregnancy unit. She’d had her ultrasound to confirm that it was a miscarriage. The midwife had come with the information leaflets that they already had at home. 

He was sitting next to her, holding her hand, watching her blink more tears away. ‘Don’t be sorry. I’m just glad you’re alright.’

She’d done everything she could. Eating more healthily than ever, exercising carefully, getting lots of fresh air. She’d been so strong, even after two miscarriages, cheerful and positive. 

‘I’m not sure I am alright.’ She looked very pale. Fragile. Mascara still underneath her eyes. ‘I was so close.’ Her voice broke again.

Thirteen and a half weeks, just outside the classification for the much more rare late miscarriage. They’d already been told it was rare to have three in a row, and that they’d been very unlucky.

Edd put his other hand on top of hers. ‘It’s going to be OK.’ 

They’d lit a candle after the first and second one. They’d not given them names. Baby One and Baby Two. He wondered if it would be enough, this time, a candle and a number. The little nub of life that was both of them, that had been growing inside her, now partly flushed into the sewage system in the Foreign Office. It broke his bloody heart.

‘Do you promise?’ Her eyes were the saddest they’d ever been.

He wanted more than anything to make her happy, and well. ‘I promise.’

***

**Sansa**

She was curled up in her PJs and just putting the phone down, when Sandor came in with the baby, whose cries were beginning to get louder.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘One order of full fat milk.’

She smiled and put her arms out. ‘Are you saying I’m fat?’

‘Massive,’ he said, as she took Florence from him.

He sat down beside her with a bearish sigh.

‘Is he asleep?’

‘Aye. For now.’ He looked across at her with a quiet smile. ‘I give him three hours.’ There was more grey in his beard now, patches rather than flecks, and the lines at the corners of his eyes were deeper. Then again, she wasn’t one to talk – she’d been horrified one morning to find a wrinkle in her cheek that didn’t go away. They were constantly sleep-deprived, and though she’d gone back to work part-time, she often stumbled through her workday feeling comatose. Their daughter was even more demanding than Teddy had been.

Sansa drew Florence to her and got her boob out. ‘Come on then, guzzler.’

Sandor stretched and put his arm out around her. ‘Who was on the phone?’

‘Just Arya.’

‘Not your mum, then?’

Sansa sighed. He had to keep bringing it up. ‘No.’ She should have phoned Cat. She knew she should have. But she’d rather hoped Sandor would have been more understanding.

‘You can’t blank her forever.’

Florence carried on sucking, her eyes scrunched shut in concentration.

‘Is it because you had a crush on him?’

Sansa looked over, wide-eyed ‘No. How do you remember that?’ She’d told him once, about nine years ago, about her teenage crush on their doctor. 

‘Funny, my brain just remembers things like that,’ he said. Gave the faintest wink.

She didn’t allow herself to soften. Not completely. ‘No. Ugh. That was a long time ago.’ In truth, it did make the shock rather deeper, to realise that the man she’d gently fantasised over at the age of fifteen was now fucking her mother.

‘I know it hurts,’ Sandor said. ‘But she’s not going to be celibate for the rest of her life, is she?’

‘Why not?’

‘Sansa.’

She felt a rash of bitterness. ‘You don’t understand. You don’t have family.’ As soon as she’d spoken, she wished the words back.

He took his arm away, put his chin down his chest and breathed out a slightly disbelieving laugh.

‘I didn’t mean that.’ 

‘Mm-hmm.’ He nodded, still not looking at her.

Oh, God. She was a terrible person. ‘Honey. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.’ She shifted Florence to one arm, and put a hand on his thigh. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. I’m so zombified. It makes me crazy.’

He slowly brought his head up and looked at her. Sighed. ‘Well, you’re right. I don’t have family. But you do, and you’ve a great one. That’s why I think you should treat them nicely enough. Your ma’s a gem. She deserves some happiness.’

She gazed at him, at the gentle scars on his cheek, the big dark pupils. He looked just as tired, and he looked beautiful. ‘I’m an idiot. Do you forgive me?’

He put his arm back around her and kissed the top of her head. ‘Always, firecracker.’

She lay tucked into his warmth, breathing his smells of baby food and their children and deodorant for a while. There was nothing safer than this.

‘That’s how I’d like to fall asleep,’ he said, nodding down at their daughter, who was now dead to the world with her mouth still around Sansa’s nipple.

‘You could if you liked,’ she said. A gentle, soft-breathed laugh from both of them. ‘When did we last have sex?’

‘About five thousand years ago,’ he said. Smiled.

They were knackered, all the time. Nappies and feeding and bathtime and stories all bled into one. By the time both kids were down, all they were good for was Netflix on the sofa, and even then one of them normally conked out.

‘Well, we could rectify that,’ she said. Raised one eyebrow.

‘We could.’ Her husband watched her, a tiny hint of light in his grey eyes.

‘Or we could put the kettle on and watch telly,’ she said, and she swore that he looked as relieved as she felt. They both grinned.

‘Or we could do that,’ he said.

***

**Arya**

‘Hey,’ said Pod, kissing her on the cheek. He’d been out on a site all day and evening and looked even more red-cheeked than normal. 

‘Daddyyyyyyyyy!’ shouted Aoife, skidding along the hallway and crashing into Pod’s legs. ‘I made a horth out of Coco Popth boxes and glue and paint and, and, and I’m going to ride it to the moon and kill hundredth of dragonth and they will be all covered in blood and YUK.’

‘That’s my girl,’ said Pod.

Aoife ran back down the corridor, shouting, ‘I’m going to kill you dragonth DEAD!’

‘Like mother, like daughter,’ said Arya. “She should so be in bed right now.’

Pod grinned before looking more seriously at her. ‘So what didn’t you want to tell me over the phone?’

She took a deep breath. ‘We’d better sit down,’ she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the merry Christmasses and seasonal greetings and Yuletides to you, dear readerz! Sorry for the troubles in this chapter, hope they are not too distressing for any of you; love to anyone who has suffered a miscarriage, which often seems so difficult in terms of explaining to others, expressing grief and processing, however early it might be. Having not ever been there myself, I hope nothing rings untrue in this xxx


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Trigger warnings for miscarriage and cheating references***

**Sandor**

‘Pretty proud that we’re taking Florence to her first private opening aged seven months,’ said Sansa in the small queue outside the gallery.

Sandor looked down at their daughter, asleep on his chest in the papoose. She was doing that little snoring thing that made him completely fall apart. ‘She’s got the right idea.’

Sansa hit him lightly on the arm. ‘Be nice. It’s Jojen’s show.’

He sighed and followed her in, past the hipsters, all sporting clear plastic frames and weird haircuts, as they milled about with bottles of cheap beer. This was totally not his scene, but then Sandor went to lots of things that weren’t his scene – dinner with Sansa’s work lot (not that cunt Daario, who thankfully had left a year ago), Robin’s concerts, music sessions with a load of mums all cooing at him because he was the sole dad. It was all part and parcel of life with Sansa, and that was OK. He just wished he didn’t have to go to a pretentious gallery full of shite and pretend to like it.

‘So it’s a three-person show,’ said Sansa, reading the leaflet. ‘It’s called _Thinking Here Of How The Words Formulate Inside My Head As I Am Just Thinking_.’

‘Jesus wept,’ said Sandor.

In one room, visitors were sitting down against the walls with headphones on. Another was filled with video screens and loads of pink toys all stitched together in grotesque ways.

‘Just as well she’s asleep.' Sandor nodded down to Florence. ‘She’d be fucking scarred for life.’

***

**Arya**

‘Well, this is all hilarious,’ said Arya. 

Jojen's room was entitled ‘ _a length of spit dangling from a mouth_ ,’ and was apparently influenced in equal measures by Robert Mapplethorpe, Japanese _noh_ theatre and children’s playground equipment. There were phallic rubber and leather protuberances, black metal frames joined together in teetering constructions, and videos in the background of a man in a geisha outfit treading lightly through a path of white chalk.

‘Cheers, mate,’ said Jojen. He was dressed in his usual uniform of raggedy black T-shirt, thin leather jacket and skinny black jeans, with the addition of some mid-century modern glasses since he’d got his eyes tested. ‘I always thought I should be doing one thing or the other, but turns out it’s OK to chuck it all together.’

‘I always knew you’d be exhibiting your stuff in some wankfest East London gallery eventually.’

‘I aim to please,’ Jojen said, giving a light salute. ‘Oh, hello.’

Jaqen emerged sleekly from the milling crowd. ‘Hello, darling.’ He put a hand at Jojen’s side and kissed his cheek. ‘Sorry I’m late. The train was cancelled.’ 

‘What d’you reckon?’ Jojen said, lightly. It was clear enough to Arya that he cared deeply about what Jaqen thought, even if he was pretending not to.

‘Wonderful,’ said Jaqen, in a murmur. ‘Devastating.’

‘Thank you,’ said Jojen, and kissed him, before pulling away and holding his gaze, a tiny moment of pure intimacy between them. He slung an arm around Jaqen’s waist, before he spotted someone across the room. ‘D’you mind if I . . . ?’

‘You must,’ said Jaqen.

Arya was left standing with her boss. ‘Oh. There’s my sis,’ she said, and turned to Jaqen. ‘Listen, will you not say anything to her? About, you know – our meeting? I need to find the right time.’ Sansa was being pretty flaky right now, what with finding out about their mum and the doc. 

‘Of course,’ said Jaqen, giving a slight bow.

‘Yo, cuz!’

Jaqen floated away as Robin cheerfully came up, with a cool-looking girl on each arm. He’d been a student in London for over a year, having got a scholarship at a reputable music college, and was clearly in his element. ‘This is Greta, and this is Sabina. Greta is studying composition and Sabina is studying viola and oboe. We’re going to start an experimental chamber collective!’ 

Of course they were. The girls both said hi, before going off to get drinks. 

‘Wow,’ said Arya, watching them go. ‘What happened to Alice?’

‘Oh,’ said Robin, shrugging lightly. He was wearing some luridly-patterned trousers, a bright green shirt and a dark green jacket. And a cravat, obviously. ‘We ended it. Well, I did. It was quite amicable. You know, she’s Academy and I’m College, so . . .’ He looked at Arya expectantly, as if that explained everything.

‘So . . . ?’

‘She’s just more of a Debussy and Delibes woman, and I‘m more Stockhausen and Pauline Oliveros.’ 

‘Literally no idea what that means.’

‘Oh, well –’ began Robin. 

‘Forget it.’

‘Ooo, is that Wylla over there?’ he said, craning his neck. ‘Look at her hair! I must introduce the ladies to her. See you in a bit, cuz!’

***

**Sandor**

‘Alright, big man.’

Christ. He knew straight away to whom that voice belonged; no one else had ever called him that. He turned round to find Wylla, now purple-haired and even more pierced than he remembered, holding a can of beer and leaning against a plinth.

‘What are you doing here?’

She looked a bit narked at his gruffness, her grin turning into a frown. ‘Supporting my mate’s show. Obviously.’ She craned round to look at Florence, still sleeping peacefully despite the loud shrieking playing on a loop in the next room. ‘Oh, wow. She’s a doll.’

‘Aye.’ He tried to muster some civility. ‘Thanks.’

‘Still doing the Forest School?’

‘On and off.’

‘Nice one.’

‘Here you go, baby,’ Sansa said, appearing with two plastic glasses of champagne. His heart plummeted. ‘Oh,’ she said, as she saw Wylla. ‘Hi.’

‘Hey, Sansa,’ she said. ‘Just admiring this little one.’

‘Thank you,’ said Sansa, smiling rather coolly.

Sandor wished very fiercely at this moment that the polished granite floor would open up underneath him and swallow him whole.

‘It’s your second, right?’ Wylla said, easily, clearly not feeling the same way.

‘Yeah,’ said Sansa. ‘Teddy’s at a friend’s house. We didn’t want him pushing anything over. He’s quite rambunctious.’

‘Awesome.’ Wylla was looking between them, her grin disappearing as the awkwardness continued. ‘Safe. I’ll be off. Nice to see you both.’

They watched her go. 

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘She just popped up.’

‘That’s OK,’ Sansa said, quite distantly.

***

**Edd**

‘Here you go.’ He set down the cup of chamomile tea on the end of the sofa, where Missy was curled up like a hedgehog, staring vacantly at the TV as the rain pattered on the window pane. They’d been invited to Jojen’s show but she didn’t want to go anywhere. She wasn’t in a fit state.

‘Thank you,’ she said, in a very small voice.

He knelt down in front of her as best he could and kissed her nose. ‘Can I get you anything else?’

‘I don’t deserve anything else.’

‘Missy.’

‘I don’t deserve you.’

‘Please, love.’ He put a hand on her cheek. 

The last week had been very tough indeed. He’d taken off as much time from work as he could to be with her, getting her to take the tablets, making her meals. Something seemed to have drained from her, more than the last two times.

She blinked and focused on him. ‘I’m a failure.’

‘Please don’t say that.’

‘I am.’

‘You mustn’t think that way.’

‘But babies don’t want to stay in me. With me.’

‘It’s just – bad luck.’

‘Bad luck three times?’ She sounded almost angry for a moment, before she rolled over away from his hand and stared at the ceiling. ‘I just feel like I’m being rejected. Like I’m useless.’ 

He remembered hearing her speak like that before, when she’d told him about being adopted so young, having been neglected by her biological parents. It had all come up in her counselling sessions. He was hassling their doctor to set them up with some more, but the NHS was going down the pan and there was a waiting list. For now, they were pretty much on their own.

‘Missy, I know it’s horrendous for you.’ He ran a hand over her forehead and into her hair. ‘I can’t imagine, not completely. But . . . it will get better.’

‘Aren’t you sad?’ There was a catch in her voice.

‘’Course I am.’ He’d put just as much faith in it being third time lucky as she had, as much as he’d tried not to. ‘But I care more about you than anything else, and you being safe and well is the most important thing.’

‘Don’t you feel like I’ve let you down?’

‘How could I feel that? You’re my hero.’

She blinked again, and a single tear welled at the corner of her eye. ‘You’re mine.’ She shifted and sat up, and he rose and sat down next to her, put his arm around her shoulders. She sighed, a gossamer-soft thing. ‘Each time it happens, I only want it more desperately, and I’m more afraid. I don’t think I can go through this again.’

‘Whatever you want.’

She rested her head on his shoulder and together, they watched the rain dance on the glass.

***

**Sansa**

‘Literally our first night away from Teddy in forever,’ she whispered.

‘Aye,’ Sandor said, just as quietly. ‘My ears don’t know what to do with themselves.’ A half-grin, though he seemed tired and distracted.

They were only in a cheap hotel chain – London prices were ridiculous – but it still felt nice to be away from home. Sansa stood at the window watching the rain lash down before shutting the curtains and turning back round to her husband, who was lying back on the bed, having finally got Florence down.

She went over and draped herself next to him, feeling his heart beat soundly against her cheek. It had been crap, seeing Wylla. A sudden reminder of their old discretions – not just him, but her, too. She was determined not to let it bother her. They were having a night away, without Teddy coming in halfway through night saying he’d dreamt that giant bears were eating his fingers.

She hooked a leg over his and slid a hand underneath his T-shirt, smoothing over his warm belly. ‘How tired are you?’

He was staring up at the ceiling, as if his mind was somewhere else.

'Earth to husband . . .' she said in his ear.

'Sorry,' he said, blinking and looking at her. 'What was that?'

'How tired are you?; she whispered, as lasciviously as she could.

A slow smile. ‘There’s life in the old dog yet.’

She moved her hand down, over his jeans, felt him swell up. He gave the tiniest, most gentle groan in the back of his throat and shifted his hips. ‘So there is,’ she said.

She swung herself over him, thighs against his hips, and drew his T-shirt up to kiss his stomach, his chest, his nipple. 

‘Fuck,’ he said, under his breath. ‘Don’t stop doing that.’

She craned round to look at Florence's travel cot and then back at him. ‘Feels slightly weird with her here.’

He put his hands in her hair. ‘She's asleep. By some kind of miracle. Back you go.’

***

 **Arya**

‘Mornin’.’

Arya found Jojen in the café he’d suggested, one with hipsters sitting on mismatched school chairs and staring at white Macs. He was hunched over a local art paper, looking hungover.

‘Hey hey. How was the rest of the night?’ Arya had stayed for a bit, but she didn’t really feel part of the crowd and she could only talk to Robin about unheard-of composers for so long. Missy was supposed to come, but she’d texted to say she was ill. Sansa and Sandor had gone pretty sharpish to their hotel, presumably to make the most of their night without Teddy. She’d missed Pod and Aoife, to be honest. Pod had sent her photos of the giant castle they had made out of loo rolls and lolly sticks, and another of their daughter dressed up as some kind of monster-superhero.

She ordered the Mexican breakfast, and Jojen ordered devilled eggs on sourdough toast and his second double espresso of the morning.

‘Where’s Jaqen?’

‘Gone to see a mate of his who runs a café at a Buddhist centre.’

‘Obviously.’ She tapped her cutlery together. ‘Has he told you? About his plans?’

‘Yup.’ Jojen cast a casual look over. ‘Seismic stuff.’

‘Yeah.’

‘What are you going to do?’

Arya sighed. ‘I have no fucking idea. What do you think I should do?’

‘I think you should do it.’

‘Easy for you to say.’

‘I know.’ He sat up straighter as his coffee arrived. ‘You’ll work it out.’ 

‘Anyway, enough about me. Congrats on last night.’

‘Cheers, mate.’

‘I sense Turner Prizes and _enfant terribles_ headlines approaching.’

Jojen shrugged. ‘Maybe. We’ll see. How’s Bran?’

‘He’s OK. Not – you know.’ She sighed. ‘Never the same as he used to be, if I’m honest.’

Jojen nodded, and there was the slightest hint of pain in his eyes. No matter what he did in life, there would always be a little part of her best mate that desperately loved her brother.

‘But you and Jaqen still seem to be going alright.’

‘Yeah. It’s good.’ Jojen leant over on his elbows. ‘I’ve started chanting.’

‘Fucking Jesus.’ 

‘Fucking Jaqen is good enough for now.’

They grinned at each other.

As they finished their cooked breakfasts, Jojen took his roll-up from behind his ear. ‘Sorry about Wylla, by the way.’

‘What about Wylla?’

‘She was at the show.’

‘Yeah, I know, I saw her.’

‘I just mean, you know, her and Sandor.’ He glanced over at her. ‘Shit. You did know about that, didn’t you?’

‘Oh. Yeah.’ Arya shrugged and put a finger in the last smear of ketchup on her plate. ‘Fucking a-hole. All he had to do was be the righteous one, but no, he had to go do the revenge kiss. Dickhead.’ A wry look over. ‘Not that I’m one to talk.’

Jojen was watching her. ‘Hmm,’ he said.

She looked at him. ‘What?’

Jojen put his roll-up back behind his ear. ‘It was a bit more than a kiss,’ he said. ‘Or that’s what I heard, anyway.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE! LOVE YOU! If you're feeling a bit SanSan-freaked, [here is a nice previous HNY one-shot!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9145645) *flees*
> 
> PS The titles of the art show and Jojen's show are taken from a real East London gallery. Hurrah!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was gonna be one chapter, but I've split it into two shorter ones. I'll put the next bit up in a day or two! 
> 
> PS A reminder that in this universe, Cersei Baratheon, and Joffrey and Myrcella, are not related to the Lannisters! The Lannisters consist of Tywin, Tyrion, Jaime and Tommen. I know. It’s weird.

**Arya**

‘Our bag?’

‘Check.’

‘Aoife’s bag?’

‘Check.’

‘Big bruiser of a daughter?’

‘Don’t be mean, Mummy, I am not a big bruither.’

‘Check.’

‘Best man’s speech because everyone in the world wants you as their best man?’

Pod grinned and patted his breast pocket. He looked so fucking cute in his suit. ‘Check.’

‘Right,’ said Arya, jangling the car keys. ‘Let’s do this.’

***

**Sandor**

‘I still don’t see why we can’t take them to your ma’s like Aoife’s doing,’ Sandor said, as they left Teddy’s friend’s house, where he was staying for the weekend. 

The wedding was strictly no-kids, which – while Sandor would have been all over it a few years ago – now just seemed like a right royal pain in the arse. Teddy would stay up in Manchester and Florence was coming down on the train with them to be dumped with one of Sansa’s old London pals for the day. 

‘You know why,’ said Sansa, before sending him a guilty look. ‘I’m not ready to face her yet. I can’t look her in the eye.’

‘You know with every day that goes by, you’ll be making her feel more crap, as well as yourself.’

Sansa sighed. ‘Baby, just – I’ll do it.’ She looked out of the car window. ‘Eventually.’

***

**Edd**

‘Here you are,’ said the black cab driver, pulling up outside. Saturday meant the roads around the City had been fairly quiet.

Missy was gazing at the entrance, a little disinterestedly.

‘You sure you’re going to be OK?’ said Edd. ‘We can still back out. Go straight home.’

Missy took in a deep breath and faced him. She looked utterly beautiful, valiant. ‘No. Time to get out in the world.’ She took his hand. ‘Anyway, it’s not every day you get to go in somewhere so swanky.’

***

**Arya**

‘Weddings,’ said Jojen. ‘They just keep on coming.’

‘Pretty much the poshest wedding ever,’ said Arya. ‘This view is fucking ridiculous.’

They were standing by the triangle-beamed windows inside the fricking Gherkin, looking out over more mad glass skyscrapers and the rest of the capital, which looked like a toy town. Tyrion was completely minted.

‘Also pretty much the weirdest wedding,’ she said. ‘What with our old headmaster being here.’

‘Yup,’ said Jojen. ‘And him being the grandfather of my ex-boyfriend.’

‘Oh shit, he’s coming over.’ 

Mr. Lannister was making straight for them, moving through the well–dressed crowd like an evil heron. ‘Ms. Stark,’ he said, and though he spoke with the same amount of threatening gravitas as he’d done at school, there was a hint of light in his ice-green eyes. 

‘Ms. Stark-Payne these days, sir,’ said Arya. 

‘Of course,’ said Mr. Lannister, not looking appalled – but then she was now married to Tyrion’s right hand man, who was fetching them some drinks. In a way, Mr. Lannister had match-made she and Pod. Jesus, it had all got very bizarre. ‘Very good. And Jojen.’ He turned to him.

‘Hey, Mr. L.’ Jojen put out his hand.

‘Tywin. I insist,’ Mr. Lannister said. He had a blood-red silk handkerchief tucked into his dark breastpocket. ‘Both of you. Are you still making your art?’

‘Yeah,’ said Jojen. ‘It keeps me busy.’

‘And you’ve seen Tommen?’ Tywin glanced at the crowd behind him.

‘Not yet, Twyin,’ said Jojen. ‘But I will.’

‘Good. Well.’ Tywin surveyed the growing crowd with a faint distaste. Arya had it on good authority that he and Tyrion were not on good terms. ‘I suppose I had better take my place.’

***

**Sansa**

‘Ooo, there’s Meera,’ said Sansa, pulling Sandor over towards her friend, who’d just come in on the arm of Uncle Benjen. She’d just about got used to that one, but then it had been almost three years since those two had got together.

‘You two are looking as spectacular as ever,’ Meera said with a big, confident beam as they approached and made their greetings. ‘Wow.’ She looked round at the gleaming surroundings and the astonishing view. ‘This is something else.’

Uncle Benjen, looking very sharp in a brown tweed suit, was looking around with amusement. ‘I feel slightly like I’m in the future.’

Meera merrily squeezed her partner’s arm. ‘We’re proper country bumpkins these days. I had to explain to Ben that you can’t use cash on the tube now, because we are no longer in the ‘90s.’

‘Ha ha,’ said Uncle Benjen, smiling at Meera, who he was clearly still besotted with, before smiling at his niece. God, he looked so much like Dad. Sansa wondered what he would think of Cat dating again. She was doing her best not to feel guilty about leaving Florence wailing in the arms of her friend, as opposed to burbling cheerfully in the arms of her grandmother.

‘I so can’t wait to see what she’s wearing,’ she said. She herself was in a black cut-away jumpsuit, knowing it would work for this particular wedding.

‘I heard a tiny rumour that it wouldn’t be white,’ said Meera.

‘I think the exact words were “fuck white”.’ 

Meera grinned. ‘No, I think it was “fuck white, fuck veils, and fuck all of your bridal bullshit”.’

‘That sounds about right,’ said Sandor.

***

**Arya**

‘Mmm,’ said Jojen. ‘Who’s the stone cold fox over there?’

Arya followed his gaze to the tallish man greeting people as they came in. He had dark blonde hair and a GI Joe vibe – stubble, chiselled jaw. ‘Tyrion’s bro. Jaime. He’s a TV presenter, does edgy man-in-the-wild type stuff. You know, like Bear Grylls, except on some backwater channel.’ Word had it he was a little upset at not being asked to be best man, but Pod beat everyone for best manniness, hands down. He should charge.

‘Mmm,’ said Jojen. ‘I like.’

Arya glanced at him. ‘Uh-huh. Thinking of going for it?’

Jojen shrugged. ‘Jaqen won’t mind.’ His boyfriend was currently standing by the window, looking at the view. ‘We’re very free and easy, you know that.’ He went back to his lazy scrutiny. ‘Look at his arse.’

‘Yeah,’ said Arya. ‘Nice arse. Does it remind you of anyone else’s? You know – like Tommen’s?’ 

Jojen frowned lightly at her.

‘Jaime is Tommen’s dad, dickface.’ It was fair enough not to know, really. He was always away travelling, hence Tommen living with Mr Lannister back in the day.

‘Oh,’ said Jojen. ‘Oh yeah. Good point. Speaking of.’

‘Hi guys!’ said Tommen, as he bounded up. He had grown into a more strapping version of his apple-cheeked younger self. ‘Wow, it’s been so long!’ There was the faintest blush on his cheeks.

‘Hey, Tommen,’ said Arya. ‘You look well.’ _By which I mean rich_ , she thought.

‘Hello, you,’ said Jojen, amiably. ‘How’s it going?’

‘Oh, you know,’ said Tommen, with slightly breathless enthusiasm. ‘Pretty great. I’m working in the City. Hedge fund management. It’s literally all hours of the day, but there’s plenty of downtime, too. Loads of banter.’

Jojen gave a graciously gentle grin, seeing as those last three sentences were the antithesis of his very being. ‘Lovely.’

‘My boyfriend’s around somewhere,’ Tommen said, looking around. ‘Um, maybe I can introduce you later?’

‘’Course,’ said Jojen, and winked.

They watched Tommen dash off towards an equally strapping, clearly rugby-playing guy in an expensive suit. 

‘I’d pay to see Jaqen and him in a fight,’ said Arya.

‘No contest,’ said Jojen, and glanced slyly over at Jaqen. ‘He’s an assassin.’

***

**Edd**

Christ. He wasn’t actually terribly good with heights, and here they were with floor to ceiling – make that ground to sky – glass. Never mind. 

Sansa caught sight of them from across the room, and held up her hand. Missy had messaged she and Arya a couple of days ago to tell them about the miscarriage, to avoid having to announce anything here.

Sansa, with Sandor behind her, came straight to Missy, and gave her a long hug. ‘I’m so, so sorry,’ she said, very softly.

They remained in an embrace. ‘Thanks, babe,’ said Missy.

‘Are you OK?’

‘Been better,’ said Missy. His wife looked so lovely, in her silver floral jacket and skirt. She was his goddess. His stunning, brave goddess.

‘I’m sorry, mate,’ said Sandor to Edd, as their wives kept hugging. ‘It’s really bad luck.’

Edd nodded, and felt himself welling up for the first time in a while. None of them knew that this was their third attempt. ‘Aye. Something like that.’‘The blushing bride will be so happy you’re here.’

'The blushing bride will be so happy you're here,' said Sansa, pulling back.

‘I’ll give you a tenner if she’s blushing,’ said Missy, before a tiny frown drew her eyebrows in together. ‘Don’t tell her, will you? I don’t want to rain on her parade.’

‘Of course not.’ Sansa kissed Missy’s cheek. ‘I’m so happy to see you.’

Sandor got the attention of a passing waitress, who came over with a tray of champagnes. ‘Get one of those down you.’ He gave a flute to Edd before turning to Missy. ‘Ah, wait – are you drinking?’

Missy glanced at Edd, and shrugged. ‘I’ll have a little one.’ A tiny, sad smile. ‘Small mercies.’

‘Hey, man,’ said Arya, suddenly at their side in a pale pink long dress. ‘I’m really sorry about your news.’ She hugged Missy. ‘That really sucks.’

‘Thank you,’ murmured Missy. She looked tired already.

Arya was kissing Sansa on the cheek. ‘Hey sis.’ 

‘Hey hey,’ Sansa said. ‘You look awesome. Where’s Pod at?’

‘Down the front already.’ Arya seemed to glare at Sandor, who looked at her, puzzled.

An usher coughed and asked everyone to take their seats.

‘Yay,’ said Sansa, merrily. ‘Wedding time.’

***

**Sandor**

Everyone stood up, as Wild Thing was played from some very good speakers in the corners. Pod was up at the front with Tyrion, who had steps and a platform, the two of them in matching suits.

In came Ygritte, on the arm of her dad, and clad all in black, naturally – a dress with tight-fitted bits and feathers, making her look like a vicious, glamorous crow. 

Sansa gave a tiny sigh next to him. ‘She looks amazing,’ she whispered, slotting her hand into his arm.

Tyrion, who Sandor had never much taken to, looked charmed as she came down the aisle, taking her hand when she arrived and murmuring something.

‘Alright,’ said Ygritte to him, rather more loudly. Coughed, and scowled at the crowd.

The wedding proceeded as weddings do, the usual bland address from the registrar, something unfunny about the view and the weather, before their lines and responses. He wondered how Florence was doing, and whether Teddy had made everyone’s ears bleed yet.

‘If anyone has any objection to this union, let them speak now.’ The registrar gave a benign, well-practised smile, the customary three second pause, and –

‘Yeah,’ said Ygritte. ‘I do.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To recap! Ygritte has just objected to her own wedding...

**Arya**

There was general laughter from the guests, most of whom knew Ygritte and her rather mouthy unpredictability. 

‘Say what?’ whispered Arya, sitting next to Sansa.

Tyrion smiled at his bride, and leant forward to speak in a confiding voice, though one that everyone could hear. ‘The “I do” part comes in just a minute, my love.’

‘No, I know,’ said Ygritte. ‘I’m objecting.’

Slightly less sure titters from the guests.

‘Didn’t see that coming,’ whispered Sandor, on the other side. 

Sandor. Fuck. Arya curled her fist, dug her thumbnail into the flesh of her fingers. He was going to get fucking raked over the coals as soon as she had the chance. Fucking wanker.

Tyrion, at the front, looked down for a moment. ‘Ah. I see.’

Pod seemed to be doing his best to remain impassive, but his eyebrows had gently risen.

Ygritte’s shoulders dropped. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve fucked up. I shouldn’t have said yes. To the proposal bit.’

‘Right.’ Tyrion nodded in a gracious, resilient manner, before half-turning to the guests. ‘And thus my luck runs out.’ His light amusement didn’t quite disguise his hurt.

A few aisles in front of Sansa, Tywin Lannister cleared his throat in a grave, impatient way.

‘I’m not saying I don’t love you,’ said Ygritte, who didn’t seem to care that eighty guests were in attendance behind them. ‘I fucking love the arse off you. I just can’t be doing with all this conformo-wife bullshit. I was just kidding myself.’

‘So . . .’ Tyrion tilted his head gently to the side. ‘You’re saying that you still want to be with me?’

The registrar was looking between them in polite bafflement.

‘’Course I am, you daft fucker,’ said Ygritte. 

‘Well.’ Tyrion took both of her hands. ‘That’s fine, then.’

‘Yeah? We don’t have to be married?’

He shrugged, lightly. ‘I’m happy to leave it just as it is.’

He kissed Ygritte, and the room erupted into applause.

***

**Sansa**

‘That woman,’ said Sandor, holding his pint. ‘Is madder than a box of fucking frogs.’

The guests had all decamped to the historic city pub originally hired for the post-wedding reception, and now providing the role of post-anti-wedding reception. There were loads of small, fluffy toy lions strung as bunting over the bar. Tywin Lannister did not look terribly amused by proceedings.

‘She’s Ygritte,’ said Sansa. ‘I’m proud of her, actually. She didn’t want to be married and she said so, when the easiest thing would have just been to say “I do”.’

Sandor glanced at her. ‘You’re not telling me that you just said “I do”? At ours?’

Sansa grinned and squeezed his arm. He always looked so damned hot in a suit. ‘No, silly, I wanted to say it, because I wanted to marry you, even in my non-wedding dress and feeling slightly stoned and terrified.’

‘Thank fuck for that,’ said Sandor, with faint wryness.

‘Ooo.’ Sansa nodded to the little stage, where Ygritte was now standing in front of the DJ booth. ‘Speech.’

Ygritte thumped the mic. ‘All right, you lot.’ The room turned to the stage and cheered, and she looked peeved and faintly triumphant at once. ‘I just want to say – I’m sorry you all got togged up in your glad rags and schlepped down here for a wedding that didn’t happen. Shout-out to the Hull contingent.’

A bunch of friends and family by the bar let out wolf-whistles and whoops.

‘And I’m sorry to my folks, and to Tyrion and his old man for, you know, all the money you spent.’ Tywin Lannister raised his eyes to the ceiling impassively. ‘I’ll pay you back. In about a thousand years, given I’m on an NHS salary.’

More cheers.

‘But I’m glad you’re all here. Honest.’ She turned to Tyrion, and beckoned him up on stage. 

He climbed the stairs and stood by her, holding a glass of champagne. He really didn’t look too bothered by the lack of wedding. 

‘And I’m glad you’re here,’ she said. ‘And that you’re good enough, and maybe crackers enough, not to mind and to still be with me.’ He kissed her hand in a princely fashion, and she turned to the crowd again. ‘I do love him,’ she said loudly, making the mic squeak. ‘I just don’t want to be his fucking ball and chain. No offence to all the marrieds, like.’

‘None taken,’ said Sansa quietly enough for just Sandor to hear, hugging his arm.

‘So anyway, enjoy the free booze, have good dance, and let’s raise the roof and stick two fingers up to fucking weddings.’

The room cheered again and, as the DJ started up ‘Who Run The World (Girls)’, Ygritte stuck two fingers up and downed her champagne.

***

**Edd**

‘How are you doing?’ he said to his wife, who had been giggling with Meera as they took selfies with some of the toy lions.

‘OK. Bit drunker than normal. Is that allowed?’ She hardly drank at all, just a glass of wine occasionally. So far she’d had three glasses of bubbly.

‘’Course it is.’ He’d kept off the sauce. He was a soldier, and always would be – husbandly vigilance was his job right now.

‘Just keep an eye on me, then,’ she said. ‘Don’t want to go making a fool of myself.’

‘I will. Would you like to dance?’ He put his hand out.

She bit her lip and for a moment her brave, melancholy expression lifted. He rarely volunteered, what with the leg. She took his hand. ‘Always, _habibi_.’

***

**Arya**

‘Fucking killer non-wedding,’ said Jojen. ‘That woman is a legend.’

‘Trust Ygritte. She’s making me look well conventional.’ She glanced over at Pod. ‘Which is fine, obviously.’

Pod grinned at her and leant in for a kiss. ‘I can divorce you if you like.’

‘Not funny.’ She gave him a mock-glare. ‘Never funny.’

‘Too bad you didn’t get to give your best man speech, though,’ said Jojen. ‘I was looking forward.’

Pod beamed and patted his pocket. ‘No worries. I’ll just save it for the next one.’

‘Boom,’ said Arya, and kissed him again before pulling back and surveying the pub, which was getting more raucous by the minute, apart from Jaqen of course, currently talking to Jaime Lannister by the bar, both of them looking chilled and unruffled amongst a sea of screeching NHS nurses. ‘Joj, your boyfriend is deep in conversation with Mr TV Wild Man.’

‘Hmm?’ Jojen glanced over. ‘Oh, yeah. Interesting.’

Arya let out a garbled sound of not entirely mock-disgust, as Pod grinned. ‘Tommen’s dad, remember?’ she said. ‘Tommen’s _dad_.’

‘Yep.’ Jojen saluted. ‘Tommen’s sexy dad.’ He winked.

‘You are gross,’ Arya said, as she spotted Sandor going into the Men’s. She disentangled herself from her husband. She couldn’t hold off any longer. ‘I’m going to go talk to him.’ She glanced at Jojen, then Pod, who knew now, too, though was sworn to secrecy.

She waited by the loos, and caught him as he came out. ‘Oi.’ 

He turned round, raised an eyebrow. ‘Alright?’

‘I want to talk to you.’

‘About what?’ He was looking over her head for Sansa, who was dancing with Meera and her uncle, a gin and tonic in her hand.

‘We should go outside.’

He frowned, shrugged and followed her out past the smokers and down the alley. ‘What’s going on?’

She turned to him. ‘I know.’

He looked perplexed. ‘About what?’

‘Your big fucking dickhead mistake.’

‘What are you on about?’ He seemed faintly amused, as if she’d had a drink too many.

‘You know what.’

He shook his head.

‘You _know_ what.’

It had been long enough that they knew how to read each other. He frowned again, looking dismissive. Folded his arms. ‘That was four damned years ago.’

‘Yeah, but four _damned_ years ago, you told my sister that you’d kissed Wylla, and now I fucking hear that you did more than fucking kiss her.’

For a second, perhaps two, his shoulders and face went very still. Then he made the slightest jerk of his head, as if to shake something away, and his face became impassive. ‘Who have you been talking to?’

Too late. It was enough for Arya to know that Jojen had heard it right, and Wylla hadn’t been spreading shit. ‘Don’t fucking lie to me. I have my zero bullshit-radar on right now.’

He gazed at her for a moment, not seeming to breathe, before he blinked. Looked at the wall. Swallowed. ‘Look. It didn’t – I stopped.’

‘Yeah? When?’

He tucked his chin in, like he always did when he felt crap about something. His voice was very quiet. ‘I stopped.’

‘But you told Sansa that you just kissed her.’

‘It wasn’t –’ Everything in him seemed to be gently sagging. ‘I don’t know what you heard, but . . . it wasn’t – we didn’t – it didn’t mean anything.’

‘So that makes it OK?’

‘No.’ The word was small, spare.

‘You lied. To my sister.’

A shadow was beginning to spread over his face. ‘I didn’t want to lose her.’ A car zoomed past, its engine rattling. He watched it until it disappeared. ‘I should have –’ He brought a hand up to his forehead. ‘I know it’s no excuse, but I was feeling really shite after what she’d told about that guy in the office, and it just –’

‘Excuses aren’t going to cut it.’

He stopped. Nodded. ‘I know.’ 

She felt, as she always had, a little flare of sympathy. Just a little one. She knew about the tight ball of fear deep inside her, inside him, that could explode at any time. She’d learnt to keep hers in check. She thought he had. 

‘Are you going to tell her?’ He spoke to the pavement.

‘No. I’m not going to tell her. But you should.’ She shook her head. ‘You really fucked up.’ She knew he wasn’t the only one, that she’d fucked up so royally, almost destroyed everything she had ever had with Pod. But she had told him about Gendry, and they’d worked through it, and without that they wouldn’t have Aoife, or be married, or be together at all.

‘I think about it.’ He was slowly biting his lip. ‘I think about all the fucking time.’

‘You should have told her.’

He drew in a deep breath, as if it was his last. ‘I know.’ 

***

**Edd**

‘Babe.’ 

He’d been watching her dance, how she moved gingerly but disguised it as simple grace. Now Missy was at his side, looking exhausted.

‘I’m totally pissed.’ It was odd, hearing her swear. She hardly ever did. ‘Can we go home now, please?’ The cheerful mask was slipping, leaving her with the mournful, melancholy Missy she’d been for the last week and a bit. ‘I don’t want to say goodbye to anyone.’

‘’Course we can.’ Edd gathered up her things and they left quietly, he arranging a cab on the way down the countless floors in the lift.

Sandor was standing outside on his own, staring at the Victorian building across the road.

‘We’re off, mate,’ Edd said, as they passed him.

Sandor didn’t seem to quite register until they’d opened the cab door, and then gave them a nod, before turning and slowly walking back inside.

‘You’ve done really well,’ Edd said, shutting the taxi door behind them. ‘I’m proud of you.’

Missy gave a half-smile at him, as if she wanted to believe him, before resting her head on his shoulder, bursting into tears, and crying all the way home.

***

**Sansa**

‘Are you OK?’

Sandor had come back to her side looking like he’d seen a ghost. ‘Yeah. Fine.’ Somehow, he didn’t seem fine. He sat down, and she sat on his lap, arms over his shoulders.

‘What were you and Arya talking about?’ she said. ‘I saw you two go outside. Thick as thieves, as always. Tell me you weren’t smoking.’ She pointed a mock-admonishing finger. Just occasionally, he would wax rhapsodical about the glorious old days of smoking, and he’d definitely had the odd one with Bronn or Sal. ‘Bad boy.’

‘No. It was . . .’ He rubbed his hand over his brow. 

She put her fingers on his cheek, his neck. ‘Are you going down with something?’

‘Maybe.’ He stared at the floor, seemingly lost in thought.

‘That man,’ shouted one of Ygritte’s friends as she and another lurched past, arm in arm. ‘Is literally the hottest thing since sliced bread. Chuffing hell.’

‘He’s off the telly!’ shouted the other. ‘He makes fire with his bare hands!’

‘If you don’t pull him, I will,’ shouted the first, and they both screeched.

Sansa giggled and leaned closer to Sandor’s ear. ‘Jaime Lannister is causing quite the stir at this non-wedding-wedding-party.’

Sandor looked up at her, his eyes faraway. He seemed to be about to say something, when his phone buzzed in his jacket pocket.

She fished it out for him. ‘And who,’ she said, raising an eyebrow dramatically. ‘Is _Patricia_ when she’s at home?’

He stared at the name on the screen and took the phone from her. ‘It’s my aunt.’ 

‘Oh. Really?’ That was odd. He wasn’t really in touch with his aunt. 

‘Give me a sec,’ he said, and went to the exit again.

 _Definitely going down with something_ , she thought, as she went and joined Meera, Ygritte and her terrifying Hull mates, keeping an eye on the door. It was peculiar to have a call from his aunt, to whom he only sent a Christmas card every year. They weren’t close.

‘Let’s fucking have it!’ shouted Ygritte, as ‘Let’s Get Ready to Rumble’ fired up and her old female schoolfriends surrounded Jaime Lannister like a pack of hyenas.

‘Someone needs his survival skills right now!’ shouted Meera in Sansa’s ear.

‘Arya said he fought crocodiles in Australia! That’s how he lost his hand!’ shouted Sansa back.

‘Crocodiles are way less scary than a group of drunk women from Hull!’ shouted Meera.

Sansa half-doubled over with laughter, before seeing Sandor coming back in, his phone dangling from a hand. She sashayed over, as best she could to 1990s Geordie trash-pop.

‘There you are, baby,’ she said, flinging her arms around his neck. ‘Check out Jaime Lannister’s latest death-defying –’ for an instant, the disco lights caught his face, and she saw his expression. Pale, shocked. ‘What’s up?’

He swallowed, and bent down to her ear. ‘Its my brother.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *****This chapter contains some bleakness, alongside cuteness and love... trigger warnings for cheating references*****

**Sandor**

‘Here we are, son.’ The taxi driver slowed by the main entrance.

Inverness Hospital was an unglamorous ‘80s building off the Old Perth Road, looking even less glamorous in the rain. 

Sandor hunched his shoulders up against the drizzle as he headed in. He felt terrible. His back ached like fuck. He’d got the sleeper up, squashed in a too-small Standard seat the whole night, drifting in and out of a queasy half-sleep as the train shunted from side to side. He’d woken up to mountains, hills, a bleak grey sky.

There was a dull throb of pain and dread in the well of his throat, in his chest. Not about Gregor – he didn’t know what to think about that – but about Sansa.

He never lied. About anything. Yet he’d been lying to her for four years. Lying to himself. He remembered again, as clear as day, sitting on their bed as Sansa asked him if it had just been a kiss. She’d asked him in a way that was hardly a question, as if she knew that he could not possibly have done more. As soon as he’d said yes, part of him fell away, into nothingness. If he said yes, maybe it could be true.

He reached the intensive care unit. He knew exactly where to go because there were two policemen outside the door.

***

**Sansa**

‘MUMMY WHERE DADDY.’

‘He’s had to go to Scotland, Ted, I told you. His big brother is really sick.’

‘I BIG BROTHER.’

‘Yes, you are. The best. Are you keeping an eye on your sister?’

‘YEAH SHE SLEEP.’

‘Good boy. Now remember to look out for yellow cars for me.’

‘OKAY MUMMY I LOOK.’

For once, both of her children were being perfect, saintly. Teddy was loudly sucking from his juice box and Florence had been asleep for almost an hour. Even Bowie was snoring away in the boot. That said, they all both been a total nightmare for the entire morning, and that was partly why she was speeding down the M5 towards Bristol, because the news about Gregor had made her remember how important her family was, and how much she needed to see her mum.

***

**Sandor**

Gregor was too big for the bed. Sandor had never seen him anything but puff-chested, towering over even him, fists casually clenched. Even having prepared himself, it was a shock to see him in a flimsy hospital gown, bandaged and broken. He was locked a body brace up to his neck, with drips snaking from him. Two large monitors beeped at different pitches. 

The doctor had seemed faintly baffled that Gregor was still alive. He had severe lung damage, internal bleeding, and had already had only partially successful heart surgery. There was injury to the spinal cord, too. He’d been stabbed fourteen times. He was momentarily lucid, but was on a lot of morphine.

Sandor had been sitting by him for an hour when he finally stirred. A thick, clotted sound came from his throat, his eyes slowly opening. For a while, Sandor wasn’t sure if Gregor even recognised him, but something in his gaze told him that he knew.

‘What the fuck did you do?’ Sandor said.

A long, jagged breath, and he seemed to say something. 

Sandor brought his chair up closer so that he was in his eyeline. ‘What’s that?’

‘Fight.’ The word was raw, cracked.

‘No change there, then.’ He felt blunt, almost emotionless. ‘Did he start it, or did you?’

Gregor let out a hard sigh that might have been an attempt at a laugh. Parts of his face were blotched, yellow as old hay.

Sandor could guess. He knew how it had ended, with one man dead. The policeman outside had given him guarded details – a fight, beginning with an argument in a pub and taken outside, where Gregor was set upon. All involved had criminal dealings, he was told, and felt no surprise at all.

‘This how you wanted to end up, then?’ he said.

Another odd, half-laugh, and Gregor’s eyes became brighter. Sandor leaned in to hear him as he spoke, with long pauses in between the words. ‘So fucking . . . perfect, with your . . . two point four and . . . your trophy . . . fucking wife.’ 

Still alive enough to dig the knife in, then. Sandor supposed he’d heard from their aunt about the kids. Either that or he’d stalked Sansa online, the occasional family photos put up. ‘No one’s perfect,’ he said, feeling the hollow bleakness in his gut again.

‘Could’ve . . . fooled me.’ Gregor blinked slowly, and tilted his head marginally towards his brother, a spasm of pain crossing his face. A drawn-out exhalation behind his closed lips. ‘I’ve . . . . kids.’

‘What’s that?’ He couldn’t have heard right.

‘Kids. I’ve . . . got them.’

Sandor looked at him, surprised. 

‘All over . . . Sowed my oats. Not . . . never in touch with . . .’ he seemed to give up, eyes closing, the sounds of the room and the corridor taking over again.

Sandor sat back, blank at the thought of nieces and nephews scattered about, kids he didn’t know, and might never know.

The monitors pulsed on.

***

**Sansa**

‘Do you know how long he’s going to be up there for?’

Sansa shook her head. ‘Not yet. It didn’t sound good. I think he’s on his deathbed.’

‘Good Lord,’ said Cat, jiggling Florence in her arms. ‘How horrendous.’

‘I don’t know how he is, really. You know, they were estranged, and Sandor hated him. But – they’re still brothers, by blood at least.’

‘It’s still going to hurt,’ Cat said, and smiled gently at her granddaughter again. 

‘Mum, said Sansa, and took a deep breath. They hadn’t said anything about Sansa’s stalking out yet, taken up with the distractions of Teddy and feeding and changing the baby. ‘I’m really sorry. About how I reacted before.’

Cat didn’t look up straightaway, stroking Florence’s cheek. ‘I know it’s hard, darling. Don’t think I don’t know that.’ She moved and sat down at the breakfast bar, shifting Florence so that her head rested on her shoulder. ‘I’ll never stop loving him,’ she said, and there was fierceness in her voice. ‘You know that. I will never stop keeping him here.’ She put her palm to her chest.

‘I know,’ said Sansa. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just –’ she looked at Cat, and saw not just her mum but a woman. A grieving woman. ‘It was just a shock, and the thought of you with anyone else. . .’

Her mother nodded. ‘I understand. The timing was terrible.’

Sansa moved the slipping muslin up under Florence’s head again.

‘I’ve been lonely, Sansa,’ Cat said. ‘I’ve had the last three years waking up thinking, for one moment, that your dad was there in bed beside me. Just one small, simple moment that meant I was safe, and loved, and right where I was supposed to be. And then that moment passes and I wake up to our empty room and the same grief. Unbearable grief.’

Next door, Teddy was shouting about lorries and cows.

‘I wasn’t looking for anything. Not that I would have to justify myself to you even if I was, but that’s not how it happened. It’s been very tentative. He’s a caring man, Sansa. He’s not Dad, but he’s got a good heart.’

Sansa felt a low, dull pain in her stomach. Guilt at her selfishness. ‘Oh God. I’m sorry, Mum. I’ve been evil.’

‘It’s alright, love. I do understand. Come here.’ 

Sansa put her arms round her mother and her daughter. The smell of Cat’s strawberry shampoo and Florence’s milky skin. Florence promptly burped, twice, loudly.

‘Goodness me,’ said Cat, patting Florence on the back. ‘That was emphatic.’

‘That was almost as loud as Daddy’s burps, wasn’t it?’ said Sansa to her. ‘Not quite, but almost.’ Florence blinked her long lashes guilelessly.

‘MUMMY GRANDMA I PUT COW IN LORRY BUT IT FALL DOWN,’ announced Teddy soundly, at the kitchen door. ‘I ANGRY.’

‘That’s alright, Teddy,’ said Cat. ‘Let’s go and sort it out.’

As she passed Florence to Sansa, they exchanged a glance that was warmth, and love, and relief. 

***

**Sandor**

‘Brother.’

Sandor drifted back into consciousness, his neck stiff. He’d eaten a limp bacon sandwich in the drab café, watched the rain, come back to this chair. There was the sound of two nurses gently laughing about something outside in the corridor.

‘What?’ he said, and pulled the chair closer again.

Gregor looked ashen. ‘I . . . want . . .’

‘Want what?’

‘To . . . forgive me.’ The words were barely there.

Sandor looked at his brother. ‘What for?’ 

‘You . . . you know.’ 

He felt a trace of his young self in there somewhere, fearful and cowering from the blowtorch as he was held by his shirt, thinking _he won’t. He won’t do it_. He straightened, and got back to himself, to here, and now. ‘I want you to say it.’

‘For . . . what . . .’ Gregor’s eyes flickered over Sandor’s face. ‘What I . . . did.’

‘Which was what?’ _Say it, you fucking bastard_.

He swallowed, a closed-lip sigh that seemed to sink down deep into his gut. ‘Your . . . face. I didn’t. . .’ he drifted off, moved his gaze to look out of the window.

‘Didn’t what?’ 

A moment that felt like forever. ‘Mean . . . to.’ 

Gregor gave a strange smile to the window, before moving his eyes back over, and though he was battered, mangled, there was something of the old defiance in there. In that moment, Sandor saw his weakness, his vulnerability, what he’d always known and told young grunts during his time in the army. That bullies were insecure, scared people. Gregor had always been scared, and that’s how he’d expressed it.

‘OK,’ Sandor said.

***

**Edd**

‘Hey. You’ve been gone ages,’ called Missy from the living room.

‘Sorry,’ he said, from the hall. ‘Protests in town. You know, the climate stuff. Traffic was murder.’

He carefully set the box down by the coat stand and came in. The flat smelt of warm sugar and butter.

‘Hey,’ Missy said. ‘I’m baking scones.’ A forlornly valiant smile. ‘My mum said scones were the only answer. They’ll be ready in ten minutes.’

‘Lovely.’ He leant down and kissed her. ‘Got you something,’ he said.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yep. Close your eyes.’

He went back to the hall and carefully scooped up the box, coming back in to find his wife, sitting cross-legged and straight-backed, hands folded in her lap, her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

‘OK,’ he said, and placed the box by her. There was a tiny squeaking sound.

Missy drew in a honey-soft breath and opened her eyes, gazing wide-eyed at Edd for a second and then to the box next to her. ‘Oh my gosh,’ she said. ‘You didn’t.’

‘I’m afraid I did.’

‘Oh my God,’ she said, and carefully unhooked the plastic latch of the door, to more adorably miniscule emittances. She leant down and carefully looked in. ‘Hello,’ she said, in a whisper, and brought out the very small, black kitten, which hung over both of her hands, all long legs and huge yellow-green eyes. It was clearly terrified.

‘Oh. My. Days. I am slain.’ She looked at him. ‘Seriously. I am completely dead right now.’

He sat on the arm of the chair. ‘I saw an advert. They were only down the road,’ he said. ‘If it’s not the right thing, I can take it back. Him back.’

‘No way,’ said Missy. ‘This is . . . oh my gosh. I can’t even.’ She turned the kitten to face her again and touched her nose to his little nose.

‘I know it’s not the same,’ he said, very gently. ‘And it’s not meant to be.’

‘I love you with every single cell of my being,’ she said. 

‘And I love you,’ he said. ‘With the added addition of some plastic and metal.’

The kitten mewed.

***

**Arya**

‘Yo, sis.’

‘Hey,’ said Sansa, turning round from her position on the floor, Florence lying on her play-mat. ‘I didn’t know you were coming over.’

‘Word travels fast,’ Arya said, plonking herself down next to the baby. She tickled Florence’s chest. ‘Hello, little glowworm-cutester.’ 

Florence gurgled and broke into a big smile.

‘See, she does that so much more when we’re here,’ said Sansa.

‘You guys talked, then?’ 

Sansa looked a little sheepish. ‘Yeah. It’s better now.’

Arya picked up a toy and dangled it over Florence. Took a deep breath. There would never be a great time. ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’

‘Oh yeah?’ 

There was the sound of Teddy shouting in the garden, and the much quieter sound of their mum replying. 

‘Yeah. Jaqen’s opening a new little House of Black and White. In Canada.’

‘Oh, wow,’ said Sansa, focused almost fully on her daughter. ‘That’s cool.’

‘Yep. He’s asked me to head it up. On the artistic side.’

‘Wow,’ said Sansa, before stopping, sitting up and looking at her sister. ‘Wait – what? What did you say?’

‘I said that Jaqen’s asked me to go over and run the artistic side of his new branch.’ She put the toy down. ‘We’re moving to Toronto.’ Jesus, it sounded extra fucking dramatic when she put it like that.

Sansa stared at Arya, almost completely still, possibly not even breathing. ‘But – you can’t,’ she said, her voice wispy. ‘I’m not supposed to say that, am I?’

Arya kind of loved that she had, though it didn’t make it any easier. ‘You can say what you like. We’re still going go for it. Head west, dig for gold, you know.’

‘Holy fucking shit,’ Sansa said, her voice still only half-there. ‘Arya. That’s . . . incredible.’

Arya lay down next to Florence and hooked her forefinger in her niece’s fist. Florence gripped, hard. 

Sansa was looking at the window, distantly. ‘It’s amazing. Really. And Pod’s cool with it?’

‘Yeah. He’s pretty keen, actually.’ She kept joking – only partly-joking – about him in mittens and a pair of earmuffs for three months of the year. She was already looking forward to that part.

‘But what will I do without you?’

‘We can videochat all the time. We do anyway.’ I’ll just be quite a lot more miles away, she thought.

Sansa lay down next to Arya and put her arm over her. ‘I’m so proud of you I . . .’ She drew in a breath and put her head on Arya’s shoulder. Let out a sob, which became a proper gush of tears.

‘Oh fuck, don’t,’ said Arya, feeling the spike of her own tears. ‘You’ll start me off.’

‘I’m seriously really proud of you,’ said Sansa, through her blubbing. ‘Fucking hell. Fucking Canada. Arya. Like, Mounties and Justin Trudeau and shit. Jesus Christ.’

‘Not sure Jesus lives there, but everyone else, yeah.’

The doorbell rang. Arya carefully disentangled her big sister from her. ‘I’ll get it.’

She could hear Sansa still sobbing all the way down the hall. When she opened the door, Davos (or ‘Doctor Beardy’, as she secretly called him to Pod) was standing there.

‘Hello,’ he said, before registering the sound of crying from the living room. Florence was starting to join in. ‘Ah. Perhaps now isn’t a good time?’

‘It’s not you,’ Arya said. ‘It’s me.’

She led him down the hall just as Sansa came out, still bawling. ‘Hello,’ she said to Davos, holding the heel of her hand to the underside of an eye. Bowie had come out, too, circling round Davos with a lazy sniff of his calves.

‘Sansa,’ Davos said, and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Yes,’ sobbed Sansa, before she flung her arms around him. ‘Welcome to the family,’ she croaked, before bursting into fresh tears.

Davos looked bemusedly touched, and held her carefully as she cried her eyes out.

Cat appeared from the kitchen door with Teddy, who was holding a worm by one end, looking rather surprised. ‘I wasn’t expecting you,’ she said, quite tentatively.

‘I nicked your phone,’ said Sansa from Davos’ shoulder. ‘Thought I’d invite him round.’

***

**Sansa**

Cat glanced at her watch. ‘Time for the news, girls.’ She turned the telly on just as the headlines were being read on the Six O’Clock News.

Here they were, Sansa breastfeeding Florence, Arya with Teddy on her lap teaching him thumb wars, Bowie snoozing on the rug, and Cat and Davos sitting down next to each other each holding a cup of tea.

‘Awesome,’ said Arya, as the report on the latest shutdown in London. ‘Total ruckus.’

‘There she is,’ said Cat.

Lyanna Mormont was on the screen, standing at a little podium on Westminster Bridge, giving a speech. She was still small, even at twenty years old, but looked completely invincible. 

‘We will not be cowed,’ she was saying. ‘We will not be lied to by those who care only about money. You hear the evidence, but you refuse to listen. You see our seas rising faster than even predicted, and you refuse to listen. You see our planet burning, and you refuse to listen. We pledge to fight for this world, because you will not.’

‘She’s ferocious,’ said Davos, sounding charmed.

‘Fricking giant-killer,’ said Arya.

‘Rickon will be so proud,’ said Cat. ‘Can you see him?’

‘No,’ said Arya. ‘He’s probably chained to a bridge or something.’

‘Ooo, look, there’s Jaime Lannister,’ said Sansa, as she disengaged Florence from her breast. Tyrion’s dashing brother was behind Lyanna on the podium, being another face of the climate crisis movement currently causing chaos in London.

‘Ugh,’ said Arya, quite vehemently.

‘What’s wrong with Jaime?’

‘Nothing. Just that Jojen has shagged him. After Ygritte's wedding.’

‘Wait – what? What about Jaqen? Are they not a thing any more?’

‘Yeah. Jaqen shagged him too. You know, at the same time.’

Davos gave an amused cough.

‘Wow,’ said Sansa.

'Jojen sent me haikus again. He loves punishing me.'

‘Goodness,’ said Cat, and they all looked at the TV again with a great deal of focus.

Sansa’s phone buzzed.

_SANDOR AKA SEXYHUSBANDMAN:_  
_I’m gonna come back down tomorrow_  
_It’s not good but it’s not gonna be any better_  
_I’d rather be with you x_

SANSA:  
_Whatever you want, baby xxx_  
_We will be right there ready with all the hugs xxxxxx_

Sansa put her phone by her leg and watched Cat place a careful hand on Davos’ knee, the gentle intimacy between them. _It’s OK_ , she thought. _He’s not Dad, and it’s OK_.

***

**Sandor**

‘Anything from the trolley, sir?’

He shook his head, didn’t bother glancing over at the buffet car attendant. Out of the window, the mountains reared up out of the mist, barren and brutal. 

Flying cost a bomb at such short notice so here he was on the train again, beginning his day-long journey on three different trains. He watched the Cairngorms, huge wordless crags, and the fast flash of rivers. Felt numb.

He’d looked in on Gregor one last time. His brother had not woken.

He fished out his phone and texted Sansa an update on his progress.

_SANSA:_  
_Travel safe my love xxxxx_  
_Got unbelievable news to tell you xxxx_  
_Pretty massive xxxx_  
_Gonna tell you when you’re back xxxxxxxxx_

He had no idea what that could be, or how it could be bigger than what he had to say.

***

**Edd**

‘Pepper.’

‘Quite nice.’

‘Boo.’

‘That’s OK.’

‘Little Mr Huggles.’

Edd hadn’t thought that his wife could be more adorable, but adding a kitten to the picture had managed it. She was completely besotted, and they’d already gone and bought a bed, litter tray, very expensive posh cat food and some toys. She was currently lying next to the kitten on the rug, waving a felt and wool mouse in front of his nose. ‘You can call him whatever you want,’ he said.

‘Yeah, but you’ve got to call him it as well. Say “hello, Little Mr Huggles”.’

He shifted to the edge of the sofa and ran his finger over the kitten’s back. It rolled over and put a soft paw in the air. ‘Hello, Little Mr Huggles.’ Four words he really could not have imagined saying a few years ago, but then, times had really bloody changed. 

Missy giggled. ‘I can’t do it to you. Pepper it is.’ 

‘Fine by me.’

Missy scooped Pepper up in one hand and sat down next to Edd, clutching him to her chest, before giving him to Edd to hold. The kitten was as light as anything, still pretty nervous, but – he had to admit – pretty bloody sweet. He was a skinny little thing, with a big head and a mew like a sea bird. Edd tickled his stomach and the kitten put his oversized paws around his finger.

‘My heart is literally going to explode,’ said Missy. ‘It’s gonna be messy. Any second now.’

They sat playing with Pepper on his lap for a while, laughing over his equal parts terror and mesmerised fascination over another toy.

‘Babe.’

‘Yep?’

‘I was thinking about my parents, and . . . me,’ Missy said. ‘How it never made any difference that they weren’t my biological parents.’

He nodded. She was dead close to her folks, who absolutely doted on their only child. It was always lovely to see.

She snuggled up to her husband and traced a perfectly manicured nail over his knuckles. ‘I was wondering maybe if we could think about doing that.’ She looked up him. ‘Adopting.’ A fragile smile. ‘I don’t think I can go through it again.’

He took her curled fingers in his hand, and kissed them. 

***

**Sansa**

‘Baby.’

Before he was even in the door, Sansa had her arms round his warm neck. He looked exhausted, the lines at the sides of his eyes deep, his face pale. 

‘How was he?’

‘He’s dead.’

‘What?’ She stared at him. ‘But you just –’

‘I just heard.’ He was looking at her, but his eyes seemed very faraway. ‘Got a call from the hospital when I was on the bus.’

‘Oh my God. My love. I’m so sorry.’

He was shaking his head. He looked dreadful.

‘Come and sit down.’ She helped him off with his coat.

She put the kettle on and curled up next to him, an arm round his shoulders. He seemed stupefied.

‘DADDY,’ said Teddy, in a very loud stage whisper, as he came into the room in his pyjamas clutching his penguin toy. He knew to whisper at night so as not to wake Florence, and still managed to be more dramatic than a pantomime dame.

‘Hey, kiddo,’ Sandor said.

Teddy climbed into his lap and tucked his arms underneath his dad’s. ‘I MISSED YOU DADDY,’ he whispered. ‘YOU GONE REALLY LONG TIME.’

Sandor kissed the top of his head, and kept cradling it. ‘I missed you too.’

‘FLORENCE SHE MISSED YOU AS WELL COS SHE ALWAYS CRY.’

‘Is that right.’

‘It is,’ said Sansa. ‘She’s been bawling her head off. Even at Mum’s.’

He looked over at her. ‘It’s all OK there, then?’

‘Yeah. I feel better about it. Sorry it took so long.’

He shook his head faintly, and kept hugging his son.

‘DADDY PLEASE READ ME STORY.’

‘No, sweetheart,’ said Sansa, standing up. ‘Daddy has been on a train all day and he’s very tired. Back to bed. Come on.’ Teddy, for once, dutifully disentangled himself, gave Sandor a goodnight kiss and followed her back to his room.

When she came back, Sandor was slumped in exactly the same position, staring at the blank TV, his hands lightly clasped. 

She made him a cuppa and brought it over. ‘You need to go to bed, baby.’

Sandor shook his head.

‘You need to rest. Process a bit more in the morning.’

‘I don’t want to be like him,’ he said, his voice gently cracked, looking over.

‘You’re not like him.’ She’d only seen Gregor once, at their wedding, at that was enough to know that he’d been a vile, insecure bully. ‘You’re nothing like him and you never will be.’

Sandor was shivering. The shock of the news perhaps starting to come in. His eyes looked almost desperate.

‘Baby, you’re exhausted.’

He was shaking his head again, leaning forward, putting his forehead on his hand.

She rested a palm on his broad back, knowing that the only thing that could help with grief was time. Lots of time. After Dad had died he’d been a rock, always there, just listening and being with her. ‘It’s OK. I’m right here. Just breathe.’

Sandor seemed to grow calmer, his ragged breath smoothing, chest rising and falling more slowly. She could still feel him trembling, tiny sporadic tremors under the skin.

‘I’m right here,’ she said again. She would be his rock.

‘I love you so much,’ he said.

‘I know you do. I love you, too.’

He swallowed, stilled, and brought his head up to look at her. ‘There’s something I’ve got to tell you.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next (short) ficlet is basically done so is right around the corner (and follows straight on from this). 
> 
> I know that this has got rather brutal for some SanSan shippers – please know that while I may seem dead blithe in the comments (‘must create drama somehow, tee hee’) etc, this is always written with extreme love and care, and never to be manipulative or malicious to readers. I know that this will have become a step too far for some, (‘cause you know, this is supposed to be goddamned fanfic, bruv!) and will be sure to keep putting up more warnings. Please stop reading if you’re getting too anxious or upset; I’m not sure it’s worth it! I’ve realised I’m working through some of my own shit in all of this, but also felt like daring to go past the happy-ever-after, and wondering if anyone would come along for the ride! (Errrrr, anyone?!!) I do promise not to be horrendous and to always fill this Potential-‘verse with love. Please see a long exchange between Immaculate_Bastard and I in the last chapter’s comments for more. 
> 
> The last year has been a horrific mess of physical and mental illness for me; writing Potential on and off, and interacting with you guys, has truly, honestly, been a genuine lifeline at times. Serious amounts of love and thanks to you all, gorgeous ones x
> 
>  **This chapter is dedicated to our newish black rescue cat ☺**  
>  **[BONUS BLACK KITTEN FUN!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8DWc0mPdm84)**
> 
> **BONUS JOJEN HAIKUS, which I dedicate to Fanfic_Addicted and Zoesongs for the threesomes ideas!**
> 
> _Fox, panther, lion_  
>  _meet at the watering hole_  
>  _the beast with three backs_
> 
> _one man no two men_  
>  _fingers in too many pies_  
>  _or just enough pie_


End file.
